


nebulæ

by wikerobo



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: (some stuff made up), But who hasn't amirite! :'), Canon Compliant, Ficlet, M/M, POV Second Person, Reader is Ventus, Ventus dissociates a bit, post kh3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 18:49:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18555688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wikerobo/pseuds/wikerobo
Summary: You are Ventus, a guardian of light and Keyblade wielder who has been away from home for far too long. You return to the Land of Departure with friends both old and new, making a life for yourself in the absence of others. One night on a serene walk about the castle grounds, with the stars close by and your friends even closer, everything is as it should be—until it's not.





	1. nova

**Author's Note:**

> Firstly, major KH3 spoiler warning.
> 
> Secondly, this is vanven/venvan but I don't write them as siblings.
> 
> Thirdly, Reader = You = Ventus.
> 
> ///  
> ///  
> ///
> 
> Vanitas is alive and this is my self-indulgent ficlet.  
> It’s been so long since I wrote KH and I unfortunately have terrible lore comprehension but hopefully it resonates with at least one of you.
> 
> Enjoy :)

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Time never seems to set on the floating isles chaining the Land of Departure, your home, together. Each day the sun rises and each night the moon appears, all other happenings falling comfortably into place. Whether in your seventeen years awake or your twelve years asleep, the land tends to itself unchanged. The only difference between then and now is a testament to the old life, one that belonged to both you and another.

“Hey, Master,” you mutter to a weathered shrine beneath a colorful fruit-bearing tree. “Hope you like the new spot. It certainly seems to like you.”

You don’t enjoy standing at Master Eraqus’ grave for too long, especially when you’re alone in your visit. Alone in your thoughts. His Keyblade and your Wayfinders haven’t fared as well as you had hoped in its original location in front of the castle, and although the combined magical efforts of yourself, Aqua, and Terra have allowed the grave to survive in its new home, the possibility of its impermanence leads your thoughts down a dark path. Of all the losses you have endured, a homemade memento should be the least troubling, and yet it’s still managed to keep you up at night.

“Ven!” an excited voice belonging to none other than Aqua yanks you from your mental wandering. Perfect timing.

You pivot to see her waving from the edge of the mountain path and flash her a similar signal before jogging up the steep earth. The area is relatively dark even with the light of nearby lamps, but you can clearly make out Terra’s tall silhouette beside her.

“Sorry it took me so long, lost track of time,” you explain upon arrival.

“Don’t sweat it,” Terra replies with a soft nudge to your shoulder.

“You can hardly see the sky with all these clouds, anyway,” Aqua laments.

“Aww man,” you whine at her and the sky. “Can’t we just poof them away?"

She laughs. “Not enough to see the whole thing. And who knows what that might do to the rest of the sky? We could still end up missing the starshow _and_ wear ourselves out.”

You cast your upper body over the lip of the stone barrier and sigh, mentally taking note of the building electricity in the air. “At least it’ll be happening again in a few days.”

The three of you hum in unified agreement, allowing silent winds to carry the rest of the conversation.

This moment encapsulates what your life has become: a timeline full of peppered experiences that exist somewhere between marvelous and mundane. There have been no outright thrills, no exhilarating new experiences to speak of in your day-to-day. But there also haven’t been any other misfortunes since that treacherous battle, so you figure you have to count your blessings.

Still.

“This doesn’t feel right,” you accidentally and regrettably reveal out loud.

“What do you mean?” Aqua asks, as sharp as ever.

“I just feel like...like...” You struggle to find the words.

“Like you wish things could go back to normal?” Terra fills in for you. He’s surprisingly close.

“Well, there is no ‘normal,’ right?” Aqua opines pleasantly. “So it’s not really a thing you can get back to. What we have to look forward to is something new, something different. Something we can call our own.”

In your head you know your words don’t carry enough weight to warrant a mini lecture, but in your heart you know Aqua’s words to be true regardless, and you value them dearly. You always knew her to be the voice of reason, even after all these lost years.

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Isn’t she always?” Terra chimes in.

The three of you share a laugh before the roll of thunderclouds booms overhead. They startle you, though such a reaction to something so ordinary startles you even more. You briefly wonder if it’s alright to get used to the everyday, all things considered.

“I can’t even remember the last time we had a storm here,” you comment, genuinely unable to recall.

“Nature has to stay green somehow,” Terra jests. You suppose it’s true.

“That’s our cue to head back, then,” Aqua yields. “It was getting kind of late, besides. Wouldn’t want to be too tired for our visit tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, Destiny Islands,” you idly remark, shoving aside the fact that you forgot.

“And have you packed?” Aqua reminds you that you have not.

You peer around your companions and, instead of answering, make a beeline for the castle.

“Last one home is cooking dinner!” you exclaim over your shoulder.

Protesting grunts behind you quickly turn into joyous banter as the three of you dash down the mountain path and to the forecourt. The wind moves against your favor and your legs are out of practice, but you’re fairly confident a foot race is the one thing you still have over your friends. With each stomp the ornate gold of the castle’s main entrance bounces closer into view until it’s all you can see.

“Looks like I win,” you pant up the steps, your goal so close you can almost touch it.

“Don’t be too sure,” a low voice croons behind you, and in an instant there’s warm pressure against your back.

“Huh—”

You whip your head around to identify which one of them could have possibly caught up with you, but as soon as you do the night sky lights up so brightly that you lose your footing against the marble steps. The weight on your back disappears, as if serving one purpose: to push you down. It happens so fast that by the time the sting of hard ground wears off your peers are already at the door, their backs turned to you.

“Actually, looks like you’ll be making dinner tonight,” Aqua teases, her body heaving from laughter and recomposure.

“Never taunt early,” Terra adds, though his playful demeanor vanishes once he turns around. “Ven, are you alright?”

The two rush to your side, quick to offer a hand even though you’re fully capable of standing. You’re grateful for their generosity at the expense of your autonomy.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you answer waving their hands away, though the incident stays on your mind.

“We were just joking,” Terra reassures. You wonder if he’s referring to the taunt.

“I’m sorry we didn’t see you fall,” Aqua chimes in, guilt already coating her voice.

Confusion overrides pain as you rise to your feet. You’re positive one of them teased and pushed you, whether they meant it or not, but neither of them are fully acknowledging it. You open your mouth to ask them about it but change your mind the instant the storm draws nearer. You’d rather stay dry than confront your friends right now.

“Guys I’m fine, seriously, it’s no big deal,” you reiterate strutting forward with a quickened pace.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Terra says beside you. “Let’s get inside before that rain hits.”

The three of you stroll through the main entrance and lock the doors, narrowly beating the sudden downpour.

“Welcome back,” a soft voice offers from above.

Chirithy stands atop the stairs’ middle landing that ascends to the Great Hall, holding its trademark purse in one hand and what appears to be a ladle in the other.

“It’s a good thing I closed the window in your room, huh, Ventus?”

You don’t recall leaving your window open before setting out for the day, or even for any of the past few days.

“Thank you, Chirithy,” you express while continuing through the atrium, brushing the oddity aside. “Y’know, you can call me Ven if you like.”

“O-okay, Ven,” Chirithy squeaks and fidgets in place, clearly unsure of itself. “Well, I’m almost done with your meals. At least I think I am. The recipes are a little strange.”

Aqua coos behind you. “Aww, that’s very sweet. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you, though. Let us help.”

She proceeds to the small, fuzzy Spirit but it retreats.

“No! You all have done so much. It’s Chirithy’s turn.”

It wobbles up the remaining steps and presumably toward the kitchen. You turn to your friends and counter their furrowed brows with an open grin.

“We can trust Chirithy,” you encourage. “Smells pretty good, besides.”

Satisfied by your words they follow you around the landing and up the rest of the staircase. The floor opens up to a mass of delicately placed tiles in the form of various geometric shapes and patterns mirrored all across the castle. Your feet trail the inlaid curves so naturally it’s as if your heart never went to sleep in the first place. Though darker than usual, the hall is lit from adjacent windows so clearly that all inhabiting objects take on harsh silhouettes. You try not to pay too much attention to the empty seats in the corner where your masters once commanded. Doing so only causes you to feel like you don’t belong.

You cross the Great Hall and the unusual twinge of sadness leaves just as quickly as it came. You have much bigger things to care about, especially once in the dining area and your senses are treated to a delightful preview.

“Chirithy, did you do all this?” Aqua is the first to speak up, but it would have been you had the sight not left you speechless.

In the center of a long, softly lit room rests an equally long table garnished with floral decorations and matching dinnerware. Four chairs gather at one end of the table in a neat semicircle, with just enough space for full place settings of only the finest silver in the castle. Interestingly, one of the chairs has a few cushions atop it and no objects placed before it, which you deduce to be Chirithy’s seat.

“Yes, and the food is almost ready, so please feel free to get comfortable,” the Spirit in mind urges as it hobbles from the connected kitchen.

“Let us help,” you insist, strolling past the set table and to the kitchen, too curious to do as it says.

“That’s quite alright, really,” Chirithy protests. “Please sit!”

The Spirit fails to shoo you away from a starkly contrasted scene beyond the dining cove. It whimpers and grunts on its way to your heels in no time to prevent you from mentally declaring a state of emergency. Despite the pleasantries of aromas you can hardly identify, the kitchen is in as much disarray as you’d expect from a two-foot tall creature. Pots, pans, and all applicable utensils speckle countertops from use, with only a portion of them having made their way to the sink. Several empty serving apparatuses line the kitchen island in wait, and while the meal looks good at a stolen glance, you won’t stand by doing nothing.

“Aqua, Terra, a little hand?” you ask over your shoulder to your stunned yet agreeable peers.

“The food is done, though,” Chirithy exhales. “There’s nothing else to help with.”

“Nonsense, there’s always room to help your pals,” Terra refutes before scooping up a large pot and heading back to the dining table. “This soup smells amazing, by the way.”

You chuckle to yourself, knowing the dish to be more of a stew than a soup, but you keep mum in favor of collecting stray kitchenware for soaking. Aqua twirls behind you, gracefully stacking fresh garnishes in a basket and joining Terra in the other room. You shake off excess water at your fingertips and check in with Chirithy.

“Anything else?” Chirithy peers up at you with hesitation, and when it doesn’t respond you take it upon yourself to fill in the gaps. “Drinks, got it.”

Within arms reach rest two full pitchers, one of water and one of a sharp fruity drink, and in one fell swoop you grab them and glide away to set them down in front of your peers. With the table fully set you take the delicious scenery in full, admiring it with both your eyes and your nose. You hope it won’t be long before your taste buds get to appreciate it, too.

As you pour drinks for everyone and take your seat between your friends, you can’t help but reminisce the last time you all dined at this table. Now that things have so drastically changed, the three—technically four—of you have found less use of this space and wind up eating about the castle grounds instead. At any other time it would be reserved for formal occasions like Mark of Mastery exams or Keyblade bequeathings, but tonight it’s being reclaimed for a casual, lighthearted affair. You momentarily wonder if the old masters would approve, but in truth you don’t think it’s bad. Just different.

“When do we leave tomorrow?” you ask taking a sip of water in an attempt to distract your mind and your stomach. Everything looks so appetizing you can hardly stand it, but without Chirithy it would be rude of you. Aqua would likely stop you from digging in, anyway.

“Afternoon, hopefully,” Aqua replies. “Depends on if you sleep in or not.”

You shoot her a curious look. “You’re talking about Terra, right?”

Terra aims a look back at the both of you, and you can tell he’s about to mouth off something ridiculous if not for the boom of thunder that times perfectly with your rumbling belly.

“I hope you all enjoy the meal,” Chirithy pipes up, bowing at the empty chair beside the three of you.

Terra claps his hands together in visible excitement. “That means ‘dig in’!”

He grabs the bowl atop your plate and ladles in a healthy heap of stew before passing it back. In the blink of an eye Aqua places two sweet rolls on the rim of your plate with a satisfied grin. You try to reciprocate the gesture but they’re already at work on their own wares, so you decide to focus on yours. Steam carries the aroma of hearty meat and vegetable chunks all around your head and, unconcerned with the heat, you bring an overflowing spoon to your mouth. 

The balance of sweet and savory catches you completely off guard. Each ingredient mixes together for one bite so unified and chewy it’s almost dreamy. Without another moment’s wait you dip into the stew again, making sure to catch as much as possible in case it somehow disappears. In between bites you tear off a piece of sweet bread and mix it with the stew, overjoyed by the taste. The combination of flavors is so hypnotizing you almost forget about the hour’s prior fall hiding in the recess of your mind. You figure you might as well get it over with, especially now that it’s at the forefront of your mind.

“So, I have to ask,” you start the conversation after a hard swallow, “but which one of you did that thing while you were running past me?”

The look of bewilderment begins with Aqua and quickly spreads to Terra.

“What thing?” the both of them ask slightly out of sync.

“Y’know, like...”

You search for the memory, but once you find it you second-guess if it’s worth even mentioning. The incident itself is unspectacular, but the fact that it occurred so close to you while they were so much farther away is bothering you. If they used any special tactics to get ahead, you just want to know. That’s all.

“‘Don’t be too sure,’” you follow up, attempting to replicate the odd inflection. “That?”

Just as you mentally played out, Aqua reacts first. She lowers her spoon and dons an amused expression, perfectly matched with the light chuckle hidden behind her other hand.

“I don’t think I could get my voice like that if I tried. Terra?”

Unlike Aqua, Terra doesn’t put down his utensil or even pause his motions. Instead he waits for his current morsel to break down before answering.

“C’mon, I don’t sound like that! I think you were experiencing hunger hallucinations.”

You playfully roll your eyes. “Really?”

He scoops up a generous portion and shovels it into his mouth. You’re simultaneously disgusted and relieved by his unchanged habits.

“Really. That or you’re tired. I think this is past your bedtime.”

You nudge him with your forearm before spooning another portion yourself. “Yeah, right. I feel like I’m older than you guys at this point.”

Aqua reaches a quarterway across the table to purposely muss your hair. “No way, you’re always going to be our tiny Ven.”

You drag out an exaggerated groan and tap away Aqua’s hand before shoveling bread into your mouth to defeat any oncoming embarrassment. A few moments of munching, though, and you feel compelled to bring up the rest of the incident.

“It also kinda felt like one of you guys pushed me.” You don’t look either of them in the eye when you say it, but you can feel their eyes on you.

“Push you?” Terra parrots.

“We definitely wouldn’t do that,” Aqua explains. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

You finally look up and settle your sights somewhere between them, too doubtful of yourself to meet their concerned gazes. “Yeah, actually, it probably was just my imagination.”

“That wind was pretty strong,” Terra adds.

You do nothing in return but offer a short laugh and resume your meal with the others. It wouldn’t be like them to lie, especially over something so trivial, so you accept defeat. Tired hunger hallucinations must really be the culprit.

“I hope the food is to your liking,” Chirithy murmurs, breaking you from your slump.

By the corners of your eyes you watch the Spirit hop onto the empty chair slightly behind you. You pivot in your seat and enthusiastically swallow your food.

“It’s amazing!” you declare.

“Really, oohh...” It shakes its arms and scoots in place. “What’s everyone’s favorite part?” 

“Not fair,” Terra jokingly whines. “It’s all so delicious. Best meal I’ve had in a while.”

“Couldn’t have said it better,” Aqua agrees. “Thank you for doing this, Chirithy.”

“Yeah, I hope you saved some for yourself,” you add, going in for seconds.

“No, no, that’s okay,” Chirithy insists. “I’m a different kind of eater.”

“A dessert eater?” you mumble in jest, your cheeks puffed with food.

Terra perks up instantly. “Wait, there’s dessert?”

The four of you share raucous laughter that competes with the rolling thunder outside. You jump in your skin at the unpredictable claps but push your unease down with every bite.

“So, Aqua,” Terra begins in between chews, “there’s one thing we need to settle before tomorrow.”

Aqua peers up in the midst of eating with a scowl, as if she’s offended for being interrupted from enjoying her food. She merely voices an inquisitive hum and returns to her dinner.

“You know what I’m about to say,” he goes on, nodding at Chirithy.

The Spirit sighs. “Oh, boy....”

You mentally check out as your belly fills warm and heavy. Full sentences turn to word salad muddled by rain and thunder. Your friends carry on their conversation until it softens to background noise. Even your own chewing grows clearer than any conceivable language. You’d much rather get lost in the moment, absorbing the energy surrounding your body as your body absorbs the meal. Your actions resume on autopilot while your line of sight flutters around intricate arches and stained glass, each detail more mesmerizing than the last. It’s been several days since you returned to this place, though it feels like years, and the beauty of it surprises you with every passing night.

Yet at the same time your stomach sinks with dull nausea as your eyes slide over that one particular spot on the wall, or the ceiling, or the floor. Really there’s nothing spectacular about these spots other than the memory of being here once before in your youth, but something seems out of place now that you’re here twelve years later. Nausea rises from your stomach and straight to your head to fill it with unusual thoughts, so much so that you wonder if you can float out of your body just to avoid them. Yours eyes hone in on shapes across the room you’ve never cared to look at until your vision tunnels and a window no longer looks like a window. For a frozen moment you convince yourself that what’s out of place isn’t the room and all its shapes or the unfamiliar sense of detachment, but rather your own presence. You feel wrong.

“Ven, tell them I’m right.”

Aqua’s voice pulls you from your thought-train. Saves you from your potential thought-trainwreck, you imagine.

“What? Oh, uh, Aqua’s right. Didn’t we already settle this?”

With great effort you snap out of your daze, but it may already be too late. You have no idea what you’ve just agreed upon.

“Then it’s settled: Chirithy is my cuddle buddy tonight.”

It’s not an agreement you would’ve guessed, but you’re indifferent either way. Terra’s reaction is slightly more expectant as he shrugs his shoulders and pouts, clearly feigning indifference. Settled on that, you all go back to eating.

By the time your dinnerware is empty so are your thoughts, too spent from idle musings and passive engagement with your peers in favor of calming down from whatever disarming emotion you just experienced, however brief. Adjusting to your new life is no easy task, and although you have a long way to go, nights like these make it easier. It stands true even with tonight’s unusual hiccups.

“Thank you for the meal,” Aqua offers to Chirithy, who, for a Spirit lacking facial muscles, looks as pleased as ever.

“Yeah,” you agree into an open yawn, completely satisfied with the meal. “That’s the best I’ve had in...yeah.”

Terra stretches with a lean, tossing a funny glance your way. “Are you saying we’re bad cooks?”

You purse your lips. “No way! It’s just hard to explain. This whole night’s the best I’ve had in forever.” It’s true aside from the bad feelings that keep making their way back to you, but you don’t really want to talk about them right now.

Both Terra and Aqua smile at you, but it’s Aqua who reaches out. “I’m sure we’re all thinking the same thing.”

Her hand on your shoulder is as gentle as her words, and if you had to put a name to it you’d liken her to an older sibling. You’ve never had one of those, but it seems nice if it can be like this. You try to smile back at her but it jitters into another yawn.

“Aaand with that I bet we’re all thinking another thing,” Terra says as he stands up.

“Yeah, yeah,” you dismiss standing up as well and collecting your plates.

“Oh, please, you don’t need to clean up, too,” Chirithy urges jumping off its chair and waving at your hip.

“We _want_ to,” Terra retorts, taking the words right out of your mouth. “It’s the least we can do after you made us a whole dinner.”

The Spirit grumbles at your side but the three of you largely ignore it as all the table’s wares are taken to the kitchen for cleaning. But once you get to the sink, Terra interrupts your initiation.

“Hey Ven, why don’t you go on up? Aqua and I will take care of the dishes.”

“Oh, really?” Aqua asks with a surly expression, warming up into laughter once Terra begins to stutter. “Yes, of course we’ll handle this.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and continue on your way. Before heading to the second floor staircase you brush past Chirithy and pause to pat its head.

“See you in the morning, bud.”

“Goodnight, Ven,” it wishes you with more confidence than the last time it was challenged to say your nickname.

You quickly crouch down to give it one more pet, throwing in a quick hug for good measure, and skip your way to the upper level. The halls aren’t bright enough from the distant lightning so you cast a bit of light magic to illuminate your way, even though you know this path like the back of your hand after all these years. The walls and floors aren’t as ornate as the Great Hall, but the subdued nature helps you feel more at home, which is especially needed on this strange night.

“Almost there,” you say to no one except maybe the creep of darkness behind your every step.

True to your word the curved door of your room comes into view around a corner, and in your rush of emotions you command it open without ever touching it. You extinguish the spell that’s draining what little energy you have left for the night and flip the switch on a suspended orb lamp by your desk. The room has noticeably chilled from the storm.

“Pants, pants,” you hum to yourself in a mantra to both ease your nerves and keep you awake long enough to finish getting ready for bed.

You scour your dresser and snatch the first set of warm pajamas between your palms. The items don’t match in any sense of the word but you’re too sleepy to care. Using the bright light of your room and the accompanying lightning you make your way to the adjacent bathroom, hardly registering your ministrations. You only recognize that you follow through on your usual nightly ritual of washing up, rinsing out, and emptying whatever it is you need to empty. It’s over before you even realize it started, so mundane that you also don’t notice Terra, Aqua, or Chirithy in the hall until you nearly bump into them.

“Sleep well, Ven,” Aqua says at her door. Chirithy waits by her side while Terra strolls to his own door.

You smile and wave at everyone before turning around to your room. “You, too.”

White light fills your view and in an instant the boom of thunder follows closely behind, but this time a shrill yelp comes with it. You spin around regaining just enough energy for alarm and concern as your eyes adjust to the darkness.

“Ven, are you okay?” Aqua calls out.

You stop in place. “Me? I thought that was you.”

When your eyesight takes too long to adapt you use your magic to shine light on the area, intrigue quickly settling in as the last member of the party seems to have already slipped into his room.

“Goodnight, guys!” Terra shouts from his closed room, seemingly too embarrassed to face anyone after that scream.

Aqua and you share a hushed exchange of giggles before waving goodnight and finally heading into your rooms. With the door closed behind you and a bed all to yourself, you waste no time to settle in.

The first thing you do is throw yourself onto your bed, relishing in the comfort of your pillows and sheets. The second thing you do is realize you need to turn off the light, which involves getting out of bed. Even if you used more hands-free magic, the amount it would take just to turn a light off, on top of the magic you’ve already used tonight, would leave you groggy all the way to Destiny Islands. World traveling is not pleasant when you’re groggy, no matter how good the driver may be.

So you grumble and mumble and roll out of bed to flip the switch, and once the lights are completely out there’s nothing left to do but shuffle into bed and let sleep take you to dreaming. You slip under three layers of sheets and blanket, contentedly cuddling up with the spare pillow at your torso and at last closing your eyes. With weighted fabric up to your ear your frame sinks into the mattress, warmth spreading from your head to your toes. Everything lines up perfectly to allow you an easy path to dreamland you hope is quick. Your drowsy mind maneuvers in and out of the day’s events, and whenever it touches on something you don’t want, you swiftly jump into a positive memory. You won’t let bad thoughts and voices reach you.

The wind howls behind your curled figure but you fight to pay it no mind. You listlessly whisper reassurances to yourself as another bang of thunder rumbles your window. You remind yourself that you’re comfortably in your warm bed in your childhood home, surrounded by friends and loved ones at any moment. Nothing can get to you here, no matter what the darkness around your body may say.

“Still afraid of storms, Ventus?”

You also remind yourself that darkness isn’t supposed to talk.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. white dwarf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Hope this chapter isn't too weird for everyone ... ( ´∀`;)ゞ” ]

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Come on. We’re not kids anymore.”

With a labored roll of your two-ton head you creak open your eyes and he’s there. Hunched over like a beastly cat at your windowsill sits a whorling mass of blacks, reds, and purples taking familiar human form. His features fade in and out of definitive shape, dark swirls undulating around equally dark hair and alarmingly red eyes you’ve never seen, but it’s assuredly the face of the person who clashed with you thrice before.

The missing pieces of the day’s puzzle snap into place and you nearly scream at the realization.

“Vani- _mph!_ ”

An unknown force presses against your mouth until you can no longer speak. The curvature of its mass on your cheeks reminds you of fingers, so you decide to conclude with that. They’re warm and cold and comforting and unsettling, not one or the other but all at once. It’s the same sensation you have after touching scarred tissue with healthy fingertips. It almost doesn’t feel real. Almost.

“Shut up,” Vanitas orders. “I’m not here to fight you.”

He shifts off you. You think. Everything is a haze and you’re not sure yet if you can trust your own senses let alone the words of what should be a bygone enemy. A barrage of unsolicited questions override your thoughts, starting nowhere in particular except everywhere. They rattle off in your head— _Why now? Why here?_ How _here?_ —until they’re so loud you have to physically shake them away. Despite your doubtful unease you sit up to engage him, your hands desperate to regain strength just in case you need it. The storm rages on, uncaring to your frayed nerves.

“I’m not falling for that,” you counter with a dry throat and overturned stomach.

“Do I look stupid enough to take on three Keyblade wielders again?”

The glowing reds of where his eyes should be flash when he speaks, though you wish they didn’t. His appearance is harrowing proof of the darkness you work so hard to vanquish, and for a moment you resent him for being a part of you.

But that’s old Ventus thinking, you remind yourself. New Ventus believes in autonomy and freedom, where feelings aren’t wrong if they’re from the heart. Or, whatever semblance of a heart exists, in Vanitas’ case. In that sense, he can’t be wrong.

It’s just hard to stay grounded in that ideology when the person in question has crept into your room in the middle of the night resembling anything _but_ a person.

You vaguely recall witnessing a form like this before, somewhere in the timeline of your sleeping travels, but it doesn’t make the way he looks any less jarring.

“No, I guess you don’t,” you finally answer just to put the onus back on him. You’re fairly certain with the clamoring storm and spread out rooms that the others won’t hear you, but you keep your voice down regardless.

He seems pleased enough with your response judging by the wisps that suddenly form and dispel in front of you, taking on a sly personality all their own. Some of his features come clearer into view as your eyes adapt, but you’re not sure how it helps to ease your discomfort. Ashen mist dancing over his defined body isn’t much more comforting than pure black voids. Even his materialized clothing and half-mask make your skin crawl. There are too many distressing memories and restless nightmares borne of those details. And yet, when he doesn’t give you the follow up reasoning you’re looking for, you continue in defiance of fear.

“So, if you’re not here to fight, what could you possibly be here for? _How_ could you possibly be here?”

The incomplete space of Vanitas’ ribcage rises and falls. It takes you a few sluggish moments to realize he’s breathing despite the incomprehensible workings of his current form.

“The heart is such a fickle thing,” he remarks on the tail end of an exaggerated sigh. “I sometimes wonder if our minds and hearts talk to each other, or if the mind resents the heart for speaking over it.”

He positions himself at the foot of your bed and kneels with his hands planted firmly in front of him. You recoil to your headboard lest your legs come into contact with him.

“You’re not making any sense,” you groan, putting as much agitation into your voice that can be achieved at whisper volume.

“I think you know exactly what I mean,” he pushes, leaning ever so slightly into your space.

“Our hearts put us in the right direction. Why else would they be—”

“—‘our guiding key,’ right?” he interjects. You nibble your lip in restraint. “Funny you should mention that. Where did your heart guide you?”

The blanket beneath you tugs as he looms closer. You don’t have any more headboard to retreat to. “Why don’t you answer one of my questions first?” you demand.

He pauses his advance to let out a single cackle. Your arms flail and your teeth grit in an attempt to hush him, but the only effect it has over him is provoking more laughter.

“You’re as bratty as ever,” he replies, his tone now acceptably low, “but I guess that’s only fair. Venty-Wenty gets what Venty-Wenty wants.”

You chew the inside of your cheek and mentally toss aside quips and curses. “Tell me why you came here.” Mist glides over your blanketed legs. It leaves no trace of its existence behind.

“To do exactly what we’re doing now,” Vanitas states simply.

You blink once, twice, and when he doesn’t disappear the third time you voice your doubt. “You came all this way, just to talk. Really.”

“You sound disappointed.”

A small patch of skin tears between your teeth and you no longer care to hold back. If this turns out to be a dream then you have nothing to worry about. “And you sound awfully bold for someone who doesn’t want to fight. Are you going to be straight with me or not?”

The hollow of his chest swirls with ephemeral smoke as he sits back. An impulse to put your hand through it fires off in the shade of your subconscious, but you resist.

“Fine,” he concedes.

“No tricks?”

“No tricks.”

You challenge him in a brief staring contest, but with his eyes resembling blazing stones it’s difficult to tell who will win. You give up after several unnerving seconds.

“Okay, I’ll believe you until you give me a reason not to.”

Vanitas pushes a short laugh through his nose. “Then I won’t give you a reason not to.” You roll your eyes into a heavy blink, hoping he doesn’t notice. This is the first time he’s ever been even remotely cooperative.

“What could be so dire that you had to come back here just to talk to me?” you begin your inquiry, though the set up feels more like an interrogation. “We already talked. After everything, you seemed content to keep living as darkness. Wasn’t that it?”

The reds of his eyes lower to semicircles as he casts his gaze elsewhere, his airs disarmingly quiet. Perhaps you hit a soft spot, if he has any of those.

“Everything that could be said was said,” you add with emphasis, aiming to get something from him that will either prove fruitful or let you retire for the night like you originally planned.

“Not everything,” he corrects, peering back at you.

You convince yourself that you’ll never get any sleep at this rate, but the part of you that chalks this up to lucid dreamland is curious to know, so you verbally insist on him giving an explanation.

Upon your request he cranes his head down, his darkened form visibly tensed. You can see nearly every feature on him now, even when he’s bathed in shadow. All that remains to be filled is the hole in his chest and the humanity in his eyes.

“You spoke about the freedom to be, the ability to live freely,” he initiates, “and you said this right after our fated battle. You not only went through the trouble of opposing me, but you threw in a pep talk, as well.”

You sit up, edging away from your headboard and warily following Vanitas’ line of sight to your chest. “Yeah, and I meant what I said. I am me just as much as you are you. Light and dark don’t have to be a part of it.”

“But they are, and they’re the reason we fight.”

“We _fought_ because your mind was made up a long time ago.”

He lifts his head. Pierces your gaze and holds it firmly. “Wasn’t yours, too?”

You bring your knees to your torso and cross your arms in fortitude. “I only do what I have to.”

“As do I,” he counters. You furrow your brows and place your elbows atop your knees. “I also meant it when I said you can exist in light because I am darkness.”

“Is that so?” you ask languidly, unsure of his implications.

“Don’t mistake me; I did everything of my own volition, it just took me too long to realize it.”

“You have a strange way of showing that.”

“According to you we fought because I made up my mind,” he moves on, glossing over your words, “yet you still tried to win me over. If you’re so confident there was no changing my mind, why bother with small talk? Why bother listening to me here in your room, of all places?”

Something surfaces from the confines of your subconscious. He inches towards you again.

“I thought I was the one who’d be asking the questions,” you breathe anxiously but hold your ground. Your words appear to drown in thunder.

“I know exactly why you would do something so illogical.”

He breaches past your invisible walls and you can’t stop yourself from flinching, especially when his limbs bump into yours and the faint sensation of heat enters your space.

“Then say it,” you command when the proximity of his body consumes your view. The crimson orbs of his eyes flicker like freshly poked embers.

“Hope. Faith in me.”

“H-what?” you stutter, genuinely taken aback by the mundanity of his response.

“You had hoped I would walk over to your side, just like that,” he explains, though it doesn’t answer much. “After years of being your enemy you still thought you could sweet talk me into the light, not understanding the very reason that light exists to begin with.”

“I learned the hard way that with people like you it’s ‘fight first, talk later.’” He tosses his head back with a choked cackle. Apprehension jolts you only slightly more awake. “Besides, hope is just one part of how our hearts guide us. It doesn’t always need to make sense; you just follow it.”

Vanitas floats his hands by the empty space in his torso and peers down. “Like now?”

The absent heat from the night catches up to you and spreads across your exposed skin. Several moments pass in silent struggle to keep yourself cooled. You don’t answer him.

“I see,” he hums and lets his hands drop to his sides. The intensity in his eyes wavers. “Hope can cloud your judgement. It can turn a rational decision into a fatal mistake in seconds. Really, it’s not too far from obsession.”

You scrunch up your facial features and look at him sideways. “The only one with the obsession is you. All you ever wanted to do was get rid of me for some personal agenda. Don’t tell me you’re really here to start that all over again?”

You free one of your arms and hold it to the side but you’re too spent to form your Keyblade, despite knowing you would likely not use it anyway. Vanitas’ mouth twitches into what you can only recognize as a sad smile.

“Even when I’m on the edge of this world, huh,” he utters to himself. You pretend not to hear it.

“What did you mean before?” you segue, your memory already failing you. “Something about doing things of your own volition and not realizing it? What did you mean by that?”

You watch his trunk expand and collapse as he breathes in spite of his incomplete form. His attention is still lost somewhere, perhaps in the space between your bodies or outer space itself.

“In those days you were simply an afterthought,” he begins. “A necessary ingredient in forging the χ-blade who just so happened to be the weaker half of me. I couldn’t have cared that it was you. So, of course I wanted to get rid of you. ”

Your limbs freeze up as the full weight of his body atop your bed makes itself known to you. “How could I forget?” you lightly mock.

“It was the same to the very end,” he goes on, unfazed. “Standing off against you, and even that naive Sora, I wanted nothing more than to join as one and take back what was rightfully mine.”

Your lower muscles spasm from the strain of keeping yourself propped up. “I don’t see how this answers my question. We’re going in circles.”

“I was so sure I had it. Everything was in reach. Everything.”

“You still don’t get it,” you groan and collapse to your pillow, unable to turn the conversation around from sheer exhaustion. You internally reason that this could all be a dream in the end and you just want to wrap it up but he won’t stop, going so far as to follow you to the sheets like a hovering wraith. His abrupt warmth is stifling.

“Oh, I understand very well,” he asserts, leaving you no room to slip out under him. You attempt an explanation, but it proves futile. You’re too distracted by the emanating wisps from his hair tickling your nose. “I did everything I could to reject your childish rhetoric. I would never lose sight of what I was born to do, and I’d take that with me to my grave.”

Your heart rattles in its cage, sending shockwaves up to your skull that force an aggravated grumble through your windpipes. “Well you’re still here, aren’t you? What changed?”

“As soon as I woke up, as soon as I came to understand that this world refuses to let my body perish…” He holds his diction and tilts his head forward, bearing a wry smile. “You were there.”

A small murmur of shock escapes your throat as the color in his unsettling eyes returns with vigor. You have nothing else to look at except him and he shows no signs of stopping.

“Where before you were an inconvenient tool, here you were a passive and an active thought. It was inescapable. You occupied every inch of my mind until there was no room left for my own thoughts.”

Lightning rips across the sky around his silhouette. You open your mouth but he cuts you off before you can complete a syllable. “I wandered that hellscape for what seemed like an eternity trying to will the thoughts away until...”

“Until?” you rasp. Your throat burns from keeping your voice low.

“Until I found you.” He leans in so close you can’t tell if the quickened heartbeat you hear belongs to you or him. Assuming he has a heart at all.

“You promised no tricks,” you reprimand him in the midst of hitched breaths. Your hands instantly raise to form a barrier between your torsos, but in the process you unwittingly curl your fingers against the curvature of his chest and the hole you previously refused to touch. He’s much softer now, like how a normal person should feel. You don’t recoil.

“This isn’t a trick. This is real. This incessant, undying incompleteness. You feel it, too, don’t you?”

You stare up into his fiery orbs now taking shape as the golden eyes you’ve begrudgingly grown accustomed to. The color on him, too, solidifies with more familiarity. If not for the carved out piece of his body and the ghostlike trails of darkness around his frame, you’d be able to keep your eyes off him.

The feelings you wish to lay to rest and the apprehension of exposing those feelings stand off against each other until, ultimately, you decide not to reply with more than a grunt and grit teeth. Vanitas moves on without you.

“All that training I endured. All that rage and negativity, just to end up here. I was supposed to be your better half, your only whole, just like the old man said. It was simple, and yet with mere words you unraveled everything.”

He carries his monologue as your head grows fuzzy with fatigue and, either due to exhaustion or adrenaline crash, a complete lack of inhibition. “I had to beat you a few times to get there.”

His body jostles the mattress with quiet snickering. “You called it my obsession, but it’s not unlike your hope. Opposite sides of the same coin. We were both just missing each other, looking for the same thing.”

“I don’t think that’s...” you trail off, too preoccupied by the energy in his expression. It reminds you of the time you lost control.

“Thanks to you and your group, everything’s been taken care of. So it’s no use if only one of us goes.”

Your voice cracks in your throat before you can utter a word. “‘Goes’?”

He sits his weight on your midriff and firmly grasps your wrists. The sensation of taut fabric rubs against your skin and pries you from your flashback. “We can leave this existence together.”

The heat that was steadily gathering within you suddenly washes out to a stinging chill. He proceeds to peer at you expectantly.

“No,” you croak, discomfort spreading from your abdomen to your entire body. “No, how is that any different from all the times you tried to take over and get rid of me?”

“It's so much simpler than that. There won’t be any fighting. No light, no darkness, just nothingness. We never have to suffer being incomplete again. There’s no reason not to when we both want this.” It pains you to hear him so desperate and alike in some ways to Master Xe—

You swiftly throw the comparison away before you can finish the thought.

“But you’re wrong,” you cut in. “That’s not what I want, not even close. That’s not the solution to any of this.”

His grip weakens but his position over you remains unchanged. “Why?”

That one word alone is enough to send your mind into a frenzy of timelines frozen somewhere you can only revisit in your thoughts. “I felt incomplete before but that’s in the past. I’ve found a reason to be here, memories and people and places that do make me feel complete. I would never throw that away.”

He slumps in place, forces more weight onto you and revitalizes his grasp of your wrists. “Don’t kid yourself. You’ve felt it ever since you got back here. You may have your make-believe perfect life but you know you’ll always be broken.”

Your eyes burn in tune with his reappearing blazing stones and you growl. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes I do, and you know it, too. You were brought to that old fool with your heart in pieces, and not once did you defy him; the same fool who couldn’t see his own demise when it was standing two feet away from him.”

An aching pulse thrums around your head as if traveling directly to your pupils. “Don't you dare talk about Master Eraqus like that.”

“An entire lifetime of following someone else’s agenda just trying to feel whole until it was too late. But it’s never too late. Isn’t that right, Ventus?” He speaks your name with a lilt coated in both contempt and respect. It makes you nauseous.

“I never asked for this. I never asked for you.”

Plumes of phantom smoke rush your body and entangle you to no effect. A heady whine fills the space between the two of you but its creator is unrecognizable. In the middle of your overloaded senses you take note of the single warm teardrop gliding down your cheek. It doesn’t come from a place of sadness.

“You need me. We need each other.” His tone is meek and repulsive.

“Please, just stop talking.”

“Your so-called friends don’t even know the real you; what you’re capable of and what you’ve done. They don’t know you like I do.”

“Enough!” you shout, unconcerned with your volume. You tear your hands free from Vanitas’ lock and repel his arms so swiftly that he almost collides with your face. “That doesn’t matter anymore, it’s done, it’s in the past. What matters now is everything beyond that, what you do with your life now, and I choose to stay by my friends _no matter what_. You will never understand.”

You fling his arms away but it’s not enough to remove him from your bed. Tepid droplets roll onto the edge of your mouth and you instinctively lick them off. They’re salty and gross.

“I used to—” A dry cough forces you to start over. “—I used to think it was fine to sacrifice myself for them, but now I know they need me, too. I can’t go away. Especially not for you.”

There’s a faint whistle coming from his chest, and you don’t realize until now that the outside world is nearly soundless. Without the raging storm to hold your attention you have nothing else to focus on apart from Vanitas, and the uneasy hyperawareness tempts you to fill in the gaps. 

“You should be free to choose how to live your life, and if you think that means continuing to live as darkness, then so be it. But I’m not coming with you.”

He sits and stares at you in profound silence, his shifting eyes looking the same truceful shade as the last time you parted ways. “You’re all I have left,” he trills. No more and no less.

“Vanitas,” you croon so softly and plainly that it catches you off guard. You don’t remember what you were going to say next.

The whisps dancing from his figure operate of their own accord, flowing your direction in one instance then dissipating completely in the next. You lay in bed and track their motions as best as you can, but the unpredictability of their paths makes it impossible for you to keep up. Seconds quickly turn into minutes before the sudden quiver of the mattress snaps you back to reality. Back to you and him.

“So, what now?” Vanitas asks lifting his head to the ceiling. “How do I rid myself of this awful feeling?” Whether intentionally or not, he gestures to where his heart would be, and you can’t help but stare in utter loss. You’re not sure if it’s the angle, your poor night vision, or what, but the hole in his chest seems significantly smaller.

“I don’t know,” is all you can say.

“Right,” he croaks in resignation and crawls off you, finally releasing all the weight that kept you pinned in place. “Okay then, Mister Guardian, how do you find out?”

You unintentionally stretch your body underneath the sheets and search for an answer. “I usually just listen to my friends and my heart.”

He laughs bitterly. “And what happens when you have neither?”

“I, I d—”

“Don’t answer that, stupid.”

You watch him casually sit at the foot of your bed with one leg bent to his trunk and the other cascaded in front of him. He leans back with a sharp exhale and props himself up by the tips of his furled fingers, posed atop your bed like he’s an old friend just stopping by. You crane your neck to absorb the view with nothing else between you two save for a dying storm and white noise. Your attention is caught on him and his foot lightly tapping the mattress to a gentle rhythm; his attention is caught in the nothingness above the door to your room.

He hums through his nose and smiles in the same impish manner of your ill-fated battles. “Okay,” he chimes in, presumably to no one. You wait for an explanation, a cruel joke, _something_ to follow up from his one-word soliloquy, but it doesn’t come.

“Okay,” you repeat back to him. He doesn’t budge.

Your tired eyes beckon your palms to them and you rub so hard you see lightning in the dark. Beneath your warm flesh even warmer tears well up until they have nowhere to go. The ridiculousness of the night’s events flood your mind as saline emotions stain your cheeks and you hit a breaking point, laughing and crying and trembling against your forearms.

“Okay,” you repeat one more time, your voice considerably shakier than before.

You keep your vision blinded even as the temperature fluctuates around your body and overwhelms your senses with encircling cold and warm air. You no longer wish to understand the happenings of your room or keep a guarded eye on Vanitas; instead, you return to your failsafe mantras and remind yourself that at the end of it all you’ll be alone in your bed. Whether a dream or reality, it'll all be over soon, and neither the pungence nor claws of darkness will overtake you. You’re safe. You’re okay.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“Ven?”

A mellow voice calls out beyond your bedroom walls that shocks you into choking back an ugly sob. The atmosphere in your room stills to a steady warmth, and for the first time in what feels like hours you find it safe to unwind. Removing your barricading limbs you sit up and immediately reach behind you to turn on the light. With a bleary-eyed doubletake you scan the room for any traces of your night pest, but there are none to be found. Vanitas is gone.

Small paws rap three times on your door and you ride a second wind of adrenaline to answer it. Chirithy stands with a tiny luminous object that it quickly puts out upon seeing your lit room. It quietly peers up at you holding undefined features that somehow still read concerned.

“Chirithy!” you vocalize a little too forcefully and get a face full of dancing stars. For a second you forgot how to breathe. “What are you still doing up?”

“I believe I should be asking you that,” it replies.

You chuckle and scratch the back of your scalp, massaging your throbbing headrush away in the process. “Sorry. Guess I still have trouble sleeping through storms.” You peek around anticipating more company, only to find the halls empty. “Are the others still asleep?”

Chirithy nods. “Aqua had woken up from the noise and asked me to check it out. Terra doesn’t seem to have woken up once.”

“Aw, buddy...” You crouch down to your companion and usher it inside. “So, um, have you been here the whole time?”

Once the door is shut and you dim your bedside light it takes a moment to nod by your legs. “Not the whole time, but I was here. Right outside.”

You squint the pain out of your exhausted eyes and yawn, unable to dodge the incoming conversation. “So, you knew he was also here.”

Again Chirithy pauses before nodding. “I had sensed his presence for some time.”

You want to ask for how long, but refrain out of fear your head might actually explode. “How come you didn’t say anything?”

The Spirit paces briefly to and fro. “I can’t interfere.”

This is not the direction you were hoping to head in, but then again, your expectations tend to fall out of reality.

“What do you mean, ‘interfere’?” It looks at the floorboards in silence. You drop to the bed, pat the sheets next to you, and try one more time. “I promise I won’t be upset with you if you tell me. I could never be upset with you.”

Its ears and eyes perk up to the ruffle of your sheets and it instantly waddles over to attempt climbing up your bed. After a few seconds of struggle you help the thing up out of pure pity.

“Oh, I know that now, but that wasn’t my hesitation,” it pipes up after settling next to you. Now you’re even more curious and confused.

“Well, what was?”

It exhales and tilts to the side, looking so deflated it might really be losing air. You eagerly lean in without meaning to. “I didn’t interfere because he was trying to reconcile with you.”

You swallow down a resurgence of laughter and tears. “How do you figure that one?” you restrain yourself.

Chirithy looks up, as if to search for something. “There’s a place where all hearts go on the verge of crossing over. You’ve been there before yourself.” Pillars of light against a vacuum of darkness fill your mind, and the understanding goes without being said. “But sometimes a heart refuses to pass on, if it’s strong enough. It holds onto another heart in this realm.”

The storm returns as thunder claps in beat with your sinking stomach. “So, you’re telling me that his reason for being here is me? That’s it?”

“More or less,” it replies. You grip your bedsheets. “It may not be the answer you want to hear, but it is the truth. To say you two don’t share an unbreakable bond, well, that would be a lie. That bond is just twisted up in a big knot right now.”

Fabric passes between your fingers as you hold on tighter. “Why should that be on me, though? You might not have heard back there, but I never asked for this.”

Chirithy looks down at its paws in its lap and lets out an audible, pensive sound. “None of us ask for our existences. But the fact remains that he’s chasing something in order to fix it, willingly, and for that reason I can’t interfere. Even if the methods are unorthodox.”

“‘Unorthodox’ is an understatement,” you remark sarcastically and grunt into your chest before rolling your head back in discomfort. The night has overstayed its welcome. “You know, it’d be nice to have a little backup every once in a while to deal with him. I get that you can’t, or hey, don’t _want_ to, but still. I don’t understand what he’s after anymore.”

Your companion mouthlessly sighs and pushes off your bed to stand and face you, front and center. “His heart sought yours even in that place of nothing beyond. It didn’t reject you even after yours had rejected him twelve years ago. There’s nothing else I can say to make it more clear.”

You struggle to maintain eye contact with Chirithy as the lull of sleep calls you back down to your sheets. With a few uneven breaths you mentally throw up your hands in defeat and follow the Spirit to the way out.

“Thank you, Chirithy,” you express as you open the door. “Maybe we can chat about it later, but good night for now. See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Ven.” It bids you farewell with a wave of its arm and hobbles towards Aqua’s room.

Just as it reaches the middle of the hallway a flash of pale blue lights up the interior and flings your heart into overdrive. You promptly glance behind you, at the flickering light and the phantom memories projected by your anxious mind, and determine tonight is just not your night. You're ready for your emotions to reset.

“Actually, Chirithy?” you whisper as loudly as you can, much to your throat’s chagrin.

“Yes, Ven?”

“Do you mind spending the night with me? Last time, I swear.”

It bobs its head in agreement and skips joyously in its approaching steps back to you. Once at your side it wastes no time to jump into your bed again, this time almost effortlessly. You gently close the door without taking your eyes off what will be your cocoon for the next seven-and-a-half hours, if you’re lucky. Chirithy moves your second pillow against the wall and saddles up in its place, leaving just enough room for the two of you in cozy layers. You glide over to your bedside to put out the light and finally, _finally_ , crawl under the covers for sleep.

“Sweet dreams,” you wish the Spirit as you pull plush fabric over your bodies.

“You, too,” it replies grabbing onto your enveloping arm.

Here, with the safety of what feels like an old friend, you don’t need your reminders and mantras, only comfortable bliss. The air in your room is perfectly balanced for a decent rest, with the chill of the storm at your back and the warmth of Chirithy at your front. Your body naturally yields to the ache of sleep as your mind wanders aimlessly, and you can sense yourself drifting off.

Crude likenesses of those closest to you, past and present, fill the hazy corners of your headspace. You reminisce of bygone days and fantasize of new ones on the horizon, like tomorrow at Destiny Islands. So many sights and faces, all waiting for you to join them. In one corner are Lea and Isa playing their favorite sport. In another, your new acquaintances Roxas and Xion gather shells. Even Sora and his group are there greeting Terra and Aqua. You smile into your pillow.

Then, in the very back of the island’s secrets, an image of black hair and red webbing begin to form.

Slumber takes a hold of you before you can will it away.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. black dwarf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Sweet dreams indeed. ]

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunshine fantasy eclipses over your mind and plunges you into murky abyss. Lapses in memory cause you to lose track of heres and theres, with the one true constant being that your eyes are closed and you’re floating down to somewhere. Although strange, you generally accept your situation and whatever events about to unfold. When you land, or what you assume to be such, you open your eyes to find yourself in the castle’s grand hall, a detail made only stranger by the fact that you can see yourself seated upright across the room.

“Ahh, right, I’m dreaming,” you say aloud, or so you think; it feels more like a narration.  


You know this dream, although you can only control it so much. Every so often in your encumbered sleep, you hazily relive the tail end of your twelve-year dormancy through the eyes of another. This recurring dream began mere months ago, mimicking true events in near perfect order, clarity, and comprehension, until you’re able to wake up in the real world. Each version drops you off at the same point: Sora and his companions stand behind a barrier cast by Aqua, and as soon as you’re aware of your simulated environment, you see your resting body just as clearly as the body of your dear friend limp on the ground. The next thing you catch sight of is a black figure stalking over her, his ministrations too obscured to understand but you know that your friends are in a kind of danger only you can drive away. Without fail, every time, you’re overcome with the urge to awaken in this world within a world.  


“So wake up,” a nameless voice commands you to act upon your heart’s desire, just as it did that fateful day in the waking world.  


Whenever you relive this dream you think you’re one step closer to identifying the familiar yet foreign voice, to no avail. In the beginning you concluded that it must be a friend, perhaps even the very friend you’re so eager to save in your dreamscape now. But as time went on your belief in that conclusion danced from friend, to ally, to enemy, to all of the above. Tonight you don’t feel any closer to the truth.

In the midst of your retrospection the story continues on without a care to its storyteller. Your dreamself awakens vigorously and with a renewed sense of radiance, fueled purely by your conviction in justice and love. It’s an energy that belongs to you and you alone, and if it means fulfilling the role of a guardian of light, then so be it. This choice is yours.

After gaining control over your dream your viewpoint is spun around and away from Sora and his company, with your body catching up at a speed so swift you’re catapulted out of your dream seat and directly to your friend—and foe. You shout Aqua’s name but you don’t look at her. Your Keyblade is already drawn and your heart is already overworking itself to keep you moving.  


Somewhere along the way you shatter the barrier originally meant to keep you separated from the one you’re protecting and the one protecting himself. You bare your teeth at your enemy with tensed muscles and the dream plays out as you expect it to. Your Keyblades clash as they have been keen to, and your nose nearly touches your opponent as you peer into the endless void of a mask only darkness could hide behind, but the only thing you can see is your own face.

Everything is the same, until it isn’t.

You press on with all your might, lean in with all your weight, channel all your light for a single attack, but unlike your usual dreams you don’t withdraw. You don’t pause to catch your footing behind you where Aqua lies.  


More than that, you don’t sense her or any of the others this time.  


“That’s it,” the same voice from earlier calls out, mismatched to the reflection of your face in front of you. “You know exactly what you meant to do that day.”

The voice solidifies itself in all its husky poison. You flash a set of clenched teeth and spit his name: “Vanitas.”  


By now you would have woken up, or at least continued to the end of events verbatim, but tonight is different. You can’t identify it yet, but you just  _ know _ , and it’s enough to keep you going. (You haven’t figured out how to will yourself awake from lucid dreams, anyway.)

In a moment’s breath the drive of your momentum picks up and you collide into the other boy, forcing the full weight of your body atop his. There is no pain, no jolt out of limbo upon impact, only an eerie silence and invisible electricity filling the now empty room. You gaze down at him, at your legs pinning his arms to the cold marble and the utterly defenseless position you’ve now placed him in. You’ve never been able to see it up close; to see the boy responsible for your misery reduced to this pathetic display. You spare less than a second of pity before remembering this is the same boy who was willing to end entire worlds. Your heart races at the million possible “what-next”s, and without thinking you raise the hilt of your Keyblade with both hands. It’s alright if it’s here.  


Vanitas laughs, and laughs, and laughs. The sound worms its way into your heart and makes a thorny nest there.  


“That’s it,” he repeats. “You can do that here, can’t you?”

He continues to laugh. You cast down your arms and the room echoes out a jarring crash.  


Then, silence again.

You kneel over him with shaky vision and even shakier hands. Your Keyblade clambers to the floor and vanishes in an instant. Slivers of black shards fall between your fingers and cut your skin without leaving marks. You trace the fall of glass with your eyes to see a patch of beige where black should be. A smile forms beneath the jagged edges, causing more shards to fall, and you follow the line of those, too, until you meet his gaze.

He stares at you, his eyes normally tinged with scorn and uncaring to all life around them now sunken and hollow with something else entirely. Even their dull and lifeless color is a far cry from the animalistic yellows that once haunted your nightmares. It discomforts you to know something so tame could be hiding underneath that exterior all this time—even more so that it came from you.

But there’s another reality that sneaks its way into your dreamscape, one that sends an uncomfortably convincing chill down your spine: this Vanitas is unlike any of the others you’ve faced in your dreams, and yet you somehow know him. If only your memory and grip on things were better here, then maybe you’d be able to make sense of it.  


“Oh, Ventus,” he calls, breaking your expanding thoughts. You do nothing but maintain gaze with the disarming boy below you, fixed to his position. Fixated on his features. He wills his mask away as if it’s a mere decoration and your breath hitches. You don’t like the face he’s making.

“This isn’t real,” you reassure yourself aloud. You’ve become too aware of the lucid possibilities of your current situation and figure it time to really wake up—if you knew how to.

“Don’t insult me by holding back.”

He reaches for your arm with surprising ease and you flinch, but you also don’t remove yourself from him and can’t understand your own unwillingness to do so.

“Why would I need to hold back?” you reply, unable to fully control the turn of events. He smiles, noticeably strained.

“Nothing’s ever stopped you before, has it? All I had to do was say the magic words and you’d jump to a fight. You were so easy.”

This Vanitas is unsettlingly self-aware. You’re tempted to draw your Keyblade again but your senses are too hot to feel for it. You can hardly register your hands balled into fists on your thighs.

“You wanted to destroy my friends,” you remind dream-Vanitas and no longer feel inhibited by the interaction. “You wanted to destroy  _ me _ . What did you think was going to happen?”

An uneasy pang of déjà vu settles in your chest. His smile dissipates, though his eye contact stays strong.  


“I wanted to reunite with what belonged to me,” he begins, his body as rigid as ever. “We could have coexisted, χ-blade in hand, and set things right with the world.”

Your chest heaves and your nerves set aflame. “You don’t own me.”  


“Sure. But you can’t deny that I sought peace, and all you sought was my unexistence. Does that not mean you wanted to destroy me? I’d say that makes us equals.”

His tired expression shifts into something contemptuous yet sad, and as you struggle to compose yourself the only thing you can see on his face is hurt. It fills your lungs with sludge.  


“What kind of peace could ever come about from hurting someone!?” The poison expels from your body in the form of vitriol. A soft laugh narrowly escapes his throat and you grow increasingly unnerved by his expression, but it’s not enough to deter you as long as you have him. “You know nothing if you think that makes us the same in any way.”  


He waits until his laughter subsides before addressing you. “Do you remember the look you gave me as I was fading away into your light?” Your blood runs cold as you replay the conclusion of that destructive fight within your heart, the one that would seal your fate for the following twelve years, and he appears to take notice of your discomfort. “I remember. You were smiling. Smiling because you finally got rid of me.”  


“No, that’s not it,” you struggle to explain yourself. “From the start you were always trying to hurt everyone. You wanted them to disappear, forever! I had to. I had to sacrifice myself to save everyone. At least, that’s what I...” You can’t finish the thought.

“But there could’ve been another way, right?” He speaks as if to antagonize you. As if he’s withholding a piece of vital information.  


“Then why didn’t you leave Xehanort behind and live for yourself?” The both of you visibly react with surprise, but Vanitas doesn’t answer. “He hurt you so much more than I ever could. So why?”

Still, he offers nothing in response.

“Tell me!”

Only an empty, forlorn gaze.

His visage blurs out of focus as your compartmentalized mind frantically revisits countless memories in the middle of a stagnant, soundless room. You feel out of your body again, floating somewhere far, far away, until a sudden pressure around your wrists tugs you back down. Your eyesight flickers away from his face, to his curled hand at your arm, before tunneling again.

“That life was all I knew,” he answers plainly, of no help to your growing frustration. “Any one of you would have become the same.”

“That’s not tr—”

“I’m sure you saw what happened to your precious friend Aqua in the Realm of Darkness,” he cuts you off and you surrender, too pained by the validity of her struggle to refute him. “Even if I tried another life, I’d have no chance of coming back. That old man would’ve made it so I never existed again.”

You whisper his name in a way you’ve never done before. He appears to make a note of it with his eyes, like he’s pocketing it for later, and continues to talk.

“You were raised in light, and I in darkness. We were made enemies of each other and not even you could deny a fight. We sealed our fates a long time ago.”

You can’t wholly convince yourself to disagree or be angry with him. You just feel an exhausting, nostalgic ache.

“I was only doing the right thing,” you attempt, sensing you’ve had this conversation before. “I was only following my heart. You didn’t need to go like that.”

He snickers through his teeth so sharply you mistake it for a hiss. “You stowed away the missing pieces of me, and so I chased after them—after you, in order to get them back. ‘I was only following my heart.’”

Your head throbs in pain at his mental gymnastics, even though you know this is all fabricated. In spite of the falsities, you’re compelled to keep defending yourself. “I gave you a second chance, even when I shouldn’t have. What more do you want from me?”

He goes quiet with a stoic, side-tossed glance and you sigh, losing your place in the dream until artificial sinew of his gloved fingers scratches at your skin. The sensation is coarse but the motions are so gentle that you have no other choice but to focus on him and the way his eyes dance around you. His mouth twitches to speak.

“If there’s anyone who should have a say in my death, it should be you.”

“What?"

Your fingers unravel to make contact with his and your entire body goes numb. You watch his face in a daze, drawn ever closer to his presence and it hits you like a sack of bricks: you were just here, with him, in the real world. Bits and pieces of this interaction have already happened.

This dream is as alive as you are.

“You were the only thing keeping me tethered to this world,” Vanitas crows. “But you’ve always had so much more than me, didn't you? You’ve even found life beyond death. There’s nothing waiting for me at the end. There is no second chance for me.”

Something burns at the corners of your eyes but you neither move nor speak, you simply listen as your bodies get closer and he presses on.

“My purpose was made in you, and you made it unattainable. Without you I have no reason to be here anymore. Why do you think I asked you to come with me?”

Your muscles give in with each passing moment despite the burning sting around your eyes, your heart. As the pressure on your wrists grows stronger so too does your desire to hold on. But still you can’t say anything lest the words spill out like garbled nonsense. Or worse, clear and honest confession.  He opens his mouth to assuredly speak but you miss a portion of it, helplessly ringing out his name as he talks and grins, his eyes lidded with a curious intent. 

“I would end the world countless times over if it meant crossing Keyblades with you again.”   
  
You suck in a harsh breath and your eyes succumb to their aching hotness as soon as you blink the pain away. Vanitas’ image distorts behind a watery veil and your hands instinctively reach for him, though you’re not sure what you grab onto. Emotions and admissions long overdue flood your thoughts to no success on conveying them. You don’t know if the impulses to speak lead to any results nor which emotion is moving you. Your throat is too dry and your head is in too much distress to do anything concrete. Behind shut eyes you feel the other boy’s palms meet your cheeks and you lean into the touch, yielding to his chest just to stay grounded.

“What am I going to do with you?”

The words echo like a sorrowful lament but the source of them is unclear, and as your grip on dreamality slips it makes no difference who uttered them in the first place. It could be either of you or it could be both of you. It doesn’t matter. Another end is nearing, taking with it all that’s left of this place. Even with all the control you’ve gained over your dreams, there will always be something out of your hands.

In time your breathing grows shallow and your tears dry out. Waves of darkness pour in to engulf your world, and you embrace them without hesitation. Pressure at your head reminds you of your ill-fated company; he calls your name and parts strands of your hair with a comforted, inviting sigh. You succumb to the black tides with Vanitas as your anchor, wondering what it’s like to drown.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
